


Music of the Mountain

by jonesyslug



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: I don't like seeing abusive stuff in the tag, No Proofreading We Die Like Men, everyone is terrible so I wanted to write something nice, fight me on it I dare you, snufkin is autistic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 17:40:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18997387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonesyslug/pseuds/jonesyslug
Summary: Snufkin meets the Joxter on his travels.





	Music of the Mountain

Music swirled gently between the trees as Snufkin hiked, calling him forward like a siren song. He followed it up the mountain until he could see the dim light of a campfire burning. 

 

Quietly, he wove through the trees, closer and closer to the music as it was swelling. He could see the musician's silhouette as they played the tune. It soared up towards the sky and faded out gently. 

 

Snfukin found himself clapping. 

 

The man's head snapped around and their eyes locked dead on each other in surprise. Time went still. The boy and the man stared at each other, each trying to puzzle out what they saw. Each sort of knowing.

 

For Snufkin it was like a fire lit inside his mind and at the same time, he wouldn't let himself put it together. Like he was trying to do delicate work with shaking hands. 

 

Slowly the man stood. "You-" 

 

Snfukin took a cautious step back. "I'm sorry." He sputtered, though there was nothing angry in the man's voice. 

 

"You're my- my-" his voice shook slightly. "You're Mymble's son, aren't you?" 

 

Snufkin studied the man's wild eyes, his matted, wavy hair, his nose… 

 

Snufkin nodded. "You're- you know my mother." 

 

"Joxter." He said, placing his hand on his chest. "You're Snufkin, aren't you?" 

 

Snufkin nodded again. 

 

Joxter grinned. "You don't know who I am though, do you?" 

 

"I think I- I might." Snufkin said, timidly. "Forgive me if I'm wrong, but are you-"

 

"I'm your dad!" Joxter said, with much excitement.

 

Snufkin stared up at him. He adjusted his pack. He adjusted his hat. He swayed on his feet. 

 

He was thinking. 

 

Dad. Father. He had a papa, like Moomin? He knew that on a technical level. He'd never thought too much about it. Or family, at all. It seemed to work well for the Moomintrolls, but he was different from Moomin. 

 

The person in front of him was very different from Moominpapa, as well. 

 

Snufkin finally settled on the right words.

 

"How'd you do?" 

 

Joxter was still for a moment, then a half smiled cracked onto his face and he started to laugh. 

 

"Would you like some smoked fish, Snufkin? And berries for dessert." 

 

Snufkin nodded enthusiastically. 

 

He took off his pack and sat next to the fire. There was something heavy in the air, sitting on his shoulders, and he didn't know what it was or how to face it. 

 

So he pulled out his pipe. 

 

Joxter watched thoughtfully as Snufkin packed it with tobacco leaves and stole a small twig from the fire to light it. The look in Snufkin's eyes said his thoughts were miles away, but his hands were quick and deft, even in the absence of concentration. 

 

"Who taught you how to smoke a pipe?" Joxter asked, pulling out his own. 

 

"Moominpapa." Snufkin mumbled, his teeth clamped around his pipe. 

 

"Moomin...papa?" Joxter asked, head tilted. Certainly, he was much too old to- then it clicked. 

 

"Moomintroll has a child? What is it like?"

 

"He…" Snufkin processed the word  _ it  _ and gritted his teeth a bit. " _ He,"  _ Snufkin emphasized. "Is my age. Very curious and friendly. He's a bit like his father and a bit like his mother but he's just enough his own." 

 

Joxter smiled, looking at his own son. He supposed that was true of him too, or at least, it was in his looks. 

 

But, age- time, to the Joxter, was like butter on a hot skillet. It swirled and melted together and bubbled into nothing. 

 

"How old are you?" 

 

"Fifteen."

 

"It's been  _ that  _ long…" Joxter mused to himself. 

 

He sniffed the air absently. The fish was done. He got out his bowl and served himself a fish, and waited for Snufkin to do the same. 

 

But Snufkin sat still, waiting for permission.

 

"Go on, that fish is yours." Joxter encouraged. 

 

Snufkin took his fork out of his pack and started to eat it. 

 

Joxter looked down at his bowl. It seemed overly formal at the moment. He started to eat with the fish skewered on his knife, imitating his son a bit. 

 

His son was very quiet. He wondered if this was his usual disposition, or if meeting his father had shocked him into silence. 

 

When Snufkin finished his fish, he sat for a moment, and his hands felt heavy and idle. 

 

He reached for his harmonica and started to play. The notes came out nervous and wavering. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and started again. 

 

Beautiful music rang down the mountain once again, gentle and soft, if a bit somber. 

 

Soon Snufkin lost himself inside the melody he was creating, and everything melted away except the music and the crisp breeze carrying the notes away. 

 

He ended on a long, low note, and heard applause. 

 

His head snapped up and he made eye contact with his father again. 

 

Joxter was grinning, and his eyes were wide and thoughtful. 

 

"That was beautiful."

 

"Thank you...Papa." 

  
  



End file.
